


Anti-Interrogation

by Footloose



Series: Loaded March EXTRAS [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Military
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-24
Updated: 2011-11-24
Packaged: 2017-10-26 12:32:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/283158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Footloose/pseuds/Footloose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin's career in the military rests on him passing one single, simple test.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anti-Interrogation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kianspo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kianspo/gifts).



> I've [opened up the floor to questions](http://loaded-march.livejournal.com/12506.html) or _want-to-see_ scenes in anything currently completed in the Loaded March series so far. This is an early question that was previously posted on my LJ and answered there.
> 
>  
> 
> In **R &R**, Owain asked Merlin: _"So how'd you do it? Keep mum on everything short of us sticking bamboo sticks up your fingernails? You go through anti-interrogation?"_
> 
>  
> 
> The question/scene that was asked for was: _How and why did Merlin go through counter-interrogation training?_
> 
> This occurs _years_ before Merlin joined Excalibur.

* * *

 

"Recruit Merlin Emrys to see you, sir." The Corporal ushered Merlin into General MacIoan's office, and shut the door behind him on his way out. Merlin came up to the desk and stood at attention, trying not to think too much about the dirt cloud that formed around him at the sudden, snap-to movement. Showering until he'd washed off at least a couple of layers of dusty orange-brown confidence course mud and changing into greens that were at least legitimately green instead of some compound shade that came out of mixing mucky brown with olive would have been _nice_ , but when the General wanted someone _immediately_ , he meant _five minutes ago_.

"Sir! Reporting as ordered, sir!" Merlin said. He stared at a picture of the Queen hanging on the wall behind the General. She looked at him with a sort of haughty disapproval that he was sure would be reflected tenfold from the man sitting on the other side of the desk if he happened to make eye contact right now.

There was a sound of a chair creaking under weight, of squeaking backwards, of rolling on linoleum.

"Emrys. At ease."

Merlin clasped his hands behind his back. "Sir."

"When you applied for SAS training, you completed a psychological test," General MacIoan said, clasping his hands together on the desk. He had big hands -- the sort of hands that could either club a tank and cause a Hulk-sized indentation, or wring someone's neck with just the crook of his finger. "How do you think you did?"

"Um." Merlin raised both eyebrows, studying the General's expression, trying to glean what he could out of it. The General MacIoan was impossible to read, just like every other man in the upper echelons of rank, and Merlin wondered if there was a special courser that one could take to learn that trick. "Begging your pardon, sir, and I admit I'm not an expert, but my understanding is that there is no pass or fail in a psychological test, only a subjective appraisal of someone's personality, weaknesses and strengths. Sir."

There was a dry chuckle -- the sound of crumpling paper -- from deep in the General's chest. The General picked up the file folders on his desk and flipped through them. "The evaluation reports from your trainers show steady, sometimes remarkable improvement in some areas and excellent to superior results in other. The committee has recommended you for full immersion in SAS training."

The cold clench in Merlin's chest warmed, and he tried not to smile. He knew that he hadn't exactly been the most enticing new recruit when he joined the British Army. He'd barely survived boot camp, and that was only because Will had pushed him through it every time Merlin muttered anything that remotely sounded like _"'M quitting."_ He'd been a seven-stone-soaking-wet weakling before, and now, he was closer to a twelve-stone-soaking-wet weakling now, but at least he could hold his own on the course. He was tall, had a longer stride, and could keep up with the thick-necks, but what made him stand out was his head for numbers and how he never got lost when they dumped him in the middle of nowhere.

"Sir," Merlin said, because the pause in General MacIoan's voice made him a little uncertain how he should proceed.

General MacIoan stood up in a rattling creak of ancient chair needing oiling or outright replacement, and he walked around his desk to stand close to Merlin. "I don't understand something, Emrys."

"Sir?"

"A man with your educational credentials -- why are you even in the army?"

That was an easy one to answer. Merlin relaxed slightly. "Sir. It's the family business, sir."

The General's glance dipped down into the file folder he was holding. "Your mother was a MASH nurse?"

"Yes, sir."

"And your father..." The General paused, and the file folder fluttered. "Oh, I see."

Merlin restrained the urge -- but only barely -- to keep from asking what it said in the file.

"In any case," General MacIoan said, returning to his chair, "The oversight committee has reviewed the evaluation and has decided to accept their recommendation. You'll be placed in the accelerated training program."

Merlin started to grin -- but frowned instead. "Sir? The accelerated training program? I haven't heard of anything like that. What is it, sir?"

"You'll find out, Emrys. Report to the B field at 0600 tomorrow morning." The General returned his attention to the paperwork on his desk. "Dismissed."

 

ooOOoo

 

"You too?" Will asked, glancing at Merlin sidelong, though he couldn't see much of his best friend without turning his head, and at the moment, he had absolutely no intention of mucking up his chances of getting through the SAS training.

They were standing at the rear of two parallel lines of eight candidates out in the pouring rain, their uniforms soaked through; Will half-wished he could ask Merlin to do a little bit of his magic to keep the rain away from them, but someone might notice. By the time he felt a river trickle down the back of his neck, along his spine, and into his bloody boxers, Will realized that it was too late to ask anyway.

"Yeah," Merlin said, sounding ludicrously happy about being out here like this, where even _frogs_ had enough sense not to come out into the rain. But then again, he would be happy; this was all that he wanted, to follow in his father's footsteps. "Found out after the mud run. I guess I made the last-minute cut."

Will snorted. "They just picked you to round us out, make the rest of us look good."

"Yeah, mate, keep telling yourself that," Merlin said, because he was in such a bloody blindingly good mood that when the sun broke over the hills and through the clouds, it cast a sunbeam right on _him_. Will rolled his eyes. Of course it did.

A man in camouflage, his hat tucked low over his eyes, stepped forward from the line of six men who had been in discussion under the tent some twenty metres away. He stopped in front of the group. "Welcome to the SAS, gentlemen. You're here because you have all of the psychological, intellectual and physical --"

Will snorted, and muttered, " _Some of us, anyway_ ," under his breath.

"Shut up, Will," Merlin whispered back.

"-- traits that embody the perfect SAS soldier. You have been admitted to the accelerated training program, which constitutes of the same components as the regular program. It's accelerated, because you'll be completing in an eight week program what normally requires sixteen weeks. You'll be learning, operating, and functioning under high-stress conditions, running on little sleep, and more often than not, no sleep at all. If you fail any stage of the training, you'll have a second chance in the regular program. If health reasons prevent you from continuing on, you'll have the opportunity to rest, heal, and recover before being folded into the regular program. If for any reason we eject you from the accelerated training, you will be returned to regular duty after being given an evaluation on where you need to improve before applying again. Is that clear?"

There was a chorus of "Yessirs" from the group.

"At the end of the eight weeks, the lucky survivors get a forty-eight hours on-base rest-and-recuperate before entering the advanced training program." The Gunnery Sergeant lifted his chin just enough to be able to see under the low lid of his soft cap, turning his head to survey the two lines of eight before him. "Good luck, gentlemen."

He stepped aside, gesturing to another, younger man. "Sergeant."

"Sir." They traded a nod, and the sergeant stood in front of them. "Pick up your packs and follow me. Double time."

 

ooOOoo

 

Two people had washed out by the third week, and it was only the smack of Will's hand up the side of his head that kept Merlin from joining them.

"You're not leaving me to this alone," Will hissed before dragging Merlin out of bed and shoving his clothes at him. Merlin tried not to wince at the state of his feet -- the first two weeks of training involved arduous physical tests of stamina, strength, and plain old headstrong, stubborn doggedness. No amount of baking soda in hot water would do anything for the burst blisters, torn toenails, or spots rubbed so raw they bled whenever Merlin walked barefoot, or started bleeding again whenever he pulled off his socks for a fresh pair.

"Right. No. Someone has to keep you out of trouble," Merlin answered blearily, yanking on his clothes. None of them had time for a shower-- the two hours of rack time had been the extent of their liberties.

"And someone has to get you in it," Will said. Merlin wished he could hate Will, because Will was keen on all this, waking up when he had to and keeping them both going, but he was also hurting as much -- if not more -- than the rest of them.

They made it out of the barracks with seconds to spare, climbed into the back of the waiting transport, stowed their backpacks, and grabbed a few more winks on the bumpy ride to their next destination. The fourteen candidates spilled out of the truck on shaky legs.

"Look lively!" the sergeant barked. Someone else walked through them, handing them a single sheet of paper and a pencil. "Double time!"

They stopped at a field some six klicks away from their transport.

"On the _go_ , you'll have sixty seconds to survey the field and pinpoint the location of an undetermined number of enemy. A word of advice: Use _all_ of your senses." The sergeant gestured with the blade of his hand in the compass points. "Twelve. Six. Three. Nine."

He paused to see if everyone would understand his direction -- it wasn't much of a pause, but it was an understandable one considering that the candidates weren't exactly firing on all cylinders at the moment. "Begin."

Merlin took a long look around, but, if he were honest, he couldn't see a damn thing. His vision was blurry, it was a dark forest just a bit before dawn, and if there were "enemy" bodies hiding anywhere in this muck, they were crazier than he was. Merlin glanced at Will, but Will was studiously squinting through the forest and making notes.

 _Fuck. I'm going to wash out._

Merlin barely had the energy for conscious thought -- barely enough to stand up, if he were being honest. He wavered, stumbled, and finally knelt, using his thigh as a writing table, bowing his head to hide the _blatant cheating_ that he was about to do. Except he wasn't really cheating, was he? The sergeant said to use _all_ of his senses...

What was one more?

His magic told him where everyone was with pinpoint accuracy. Merlin started writing locations, making sure that he wasn't being _too_ accurate.

"Ten seconds," the sergeant said.

Merlin's hand cramped in the early morning cold, but he kept writing.

"Pencils down," the sergeant said. "Hand over your sheets."

The fourteen candidates had a respite of ten minutes while their numbers were looked over; the sergeant glanced at Will and Merlin and at two other men in approval.

"Follow me. Double time," he shouted, and took off like a bunny rabbit that Merlin really wished Will would shoot right now.

 

ooOOoo

 

Merlin wasn't sure what was worse -- the regular physical fitness tests, the conditioning, the survival training, the impromptu missions that appeared out of nowhere and appeared to be based on absolutely nothing, where each of them had a chance to lead the team. Merlin was apparently completely and utterly bollocks at it. In his review, he was rated as being _too nice_ , and no one had said anything about how the mission had been successfully completed, under time, with only a few minor foibles in the process.

He tried not to think too much about that, and concentrated on the now. If they wanted Merlin to be more of a hard-ass than he already was, he'd do it, but he didn't see the point when he got the same results by saying, "Please." He could see why the reviews would be so harsh. It was a matter of practicality. He'd gotten to know the other members of the accelerated training, and they had gotten to know _him_ ; they knew to follow orders and to work together. In the field, with a new team that might assemble on the spur of the moment, Merlin wouldn't have the time to make nice. He'd have to learn how to bark orders.

Which, given his current condition, was proving rather easy. A cranky, underfed and sleep-deprived Merlin was apparently, as Will put it, _positively bitchy_.

They were in week five, which meant that, depending on individual skill sets, each candidate -- now trimmed to an exhausted, strung out ten candidates, with one of the other two washing out completely when he had a breakdown and attacked one of the instructors -- were going through specialist training. Merlin couldn't hope for Will to keep him going this time -- Will was sent for weapons, while Merlin had been assigned to communications.

And he was bored out of his mind.

"Connect the W12 wiring to the E558 chip --" the instructor said, stopping when the only other soldier tapped as communications specialist raised a hand.

"The E558 chip? I don't have --"

"It's the blue thingy against the round knob right next to the lithium battery pack," Merlin said, rubbing his face in frustration. They'd been going over this for the last half hour. "It's the size of the fingernail on your pinkie finger."

"Oh, found it. I see now," the other candidate said, but a small cloud of aggravation formed at the front of the small classroom.

"You consider yourself such an expert, Emrys, why don't you come up here and teach us a few things?" the instructor snapped. There was no missing the _you figure you know more than I do? You're the fucking video game generation, what the bloody hell does your lot know_ in his body language.

Merlin sat back in his chair, blinking a few times, and stood up, surprising the instructor. "Yeah, why not?"

The instructor snorted, but stood aside.

"Forget the W12 to the E558," Merlin said. "You want a guaranteed communication, hard-wired frequency connection? Leave the W12 where it is, bypass the cord around the transducer, stabilize the output power by paralleling the battery with a secondary pack --"

Merlin paused, and tore the very same second pack that he needed out of a different communications unit. "Like this..."

 

ooOOoo

 

Graduation was at the end of eight weeks, and only nine of them made it. Five were bumped down to the standard training regime, where they were doing well there, from what Merlin had heard. One had dropped to regular army, only to wash out completely after a second incident of insubordination and striking a superior officer.

Forty-eight hours of on-base rest-and-recreation involved a lot of sleeping in a bed that was actually something of a bed and not some marshy spot in the wilderness, a nice, long shower that spewed hot water, and food that wasn't squeezed out of a MRE. While the successful candidates enjoyed their graduation, the committee overseeing the advanced training sat down, reviewed the reports from the trainers and instructors, and listened to the honest, candid opinions of the trainers -- the things they couldn't, and wouldn't, put down on paper.

They had gone through a careful assessment of each of the candidates before placing them in their next training role, but still had two more new SAS soldiers to place.

"I see this one has a bit of a temper. Are you sure you want to take him on?"

"Absolutely," Mawls Gibson said, grinning. "A bit of a temper never hurt anyone. Besides, you heard them. He has the right mindset. He knows what to look for, what to think about, and he's got the protective instincts that you need for the role."

Gibson couldn't get over the story that the sergeant had told him. After the search-and-identify assignment, the sergeant had approached Will and asked him, "So how did you know they were there?"

A cheeky Will had answered, "I figured they'd be in the same spots _I'd_ have hidden in."

If that weren't exactly what Gibson had said when he'd gone through the training himself, almost a decade prior, Gibson would turn in his sniper rifle.

"Speaking of protective instincts. That brings us to Merlin Emrys. We've all reviewed his file, and --"

"I'll take him," Colonel Henry Locher said.

The round table fell silent. A cricket in the other bunker chirped, and they all heard it. The Colonel never spoke other than to say "Pass" whenever the committee presented a potential candidate for training.

"Sorry?"

"I said I'll take him. He bloody well took over and taught the communications specialist course," Locher said, leaning forward, elbows on the table. "If you don't consider rewriting the training procedures to incorporate his improvements, then we have no business being in our business. He took some of our most complicated techniques, stripped them to the bare bones, and dumbed it down so that someone doesn't have to have a goddamn electrician's diploma to be able to fix anything in the field."

"I'll admit he has that going for him," one of the senior sergeants said cautiously, "But we should consider that his skills might be elsewhere. He's a dab hand in search and rescue, for instance. His survival skills are excellent all across the board, and in that testing trial, I have _no_ idea how he located that decoy --"

"It's not like we don't cross-train the candidates anyway. We'll put him through that training, too," Locher said. "It's, what, a three week course?"

"Two," the sergeant said cautiously.

"Two weeks will be enough for me to set him up under my provenance," Locher said.

"He's too soft," another Colonel said.

"Soft?"

"Soft. You heard what they said. He says please and thank-you. In your line of business, you don't need soft. You need people who can take the pressure --"

Locher snorted. "I think he'll do fine. In fact, he'll do more than fine. You don't seem to understand something. The face of military warfare is changing. Once upon a time it was a bunch of people with clubs bashing at each other, going head-to-head on charging horses, or blowing the shite out of each other with whatever explosives they happen to have handy. You don't see it yet, but the war is moving to a completely different field altogether, and we are seriously underprepared and undermanned --"

"Not this whole _we're going to get done in by our reliance on technology_ speech again," a Lieutenant groaned. "Respectfully, sir, we've heard it a billion times. The government has set up a group to identify the weak spots. We've taken precautions to protect our systems. Our --"

"And it's not enough. It's never going to be enough," Locher said, shaking his head. "Emrys is a perfect example of where we should be _right now_. We need to be manned by more men like him --"

General Tachnathar cleared his throat, and everyone fell silent. He was a tall man who had maintained his muscle mass even into his fifties, trim and fit in a way to make a twenty-some year old flush with envy. When he spoke, it was with a quiet hush and a low rumble that made the whole room reverberate, walls and floors and ceiling.

"Men like Emrys should be in the field, not in some cubicle in your little dark, dank basement," Tachnathar said. "There's an equally pressing need for someone of his skills and abilities on active duty and on difficult missions, Henry."

"And he'd do better with a bit of crypto under his wing, Lachlan," Locher said, crossing his arms. "My boys and girls are efficient from their desktops -- but we've never seen someone like Emrys come through SAS training. A few have come close, but not close enough. If we train him, if he takes to it, we'll be more efficient in the field. If we're going to experience cybernetic attacks, we're going to need to send people out to deal with it _out there_."

"What, your team can't deal with it from the safety of their desks?" a Lieutenant asked.

"Don't get him started," someone else said.

"Some threats have to be neutralized from the source," Locher said, raising a slight brow. He turned to Tachnathar. "But you, you already have a team picked out for him."

General Tachnathar tapped a finger on the cheap plastic table, and it sounded like a steel nail tapping through glass. He leaned back in his chair, sucking a tooth, drawing his hand away to cross his arms over his chest, stroking his chin in thought. His hand drifted down to his throat, where old battle scars hinted just how and why his voice sounded the way it did. When he leaned forward, finally, it was to give Locher a narrow-eyed stare. "You think Emrys can handle crypto?"

"That and more," Locher said. "His IQ is up there. His A-levels, his commendations from university -- He can handle it."

Tachnathar released a warm breath that turned into wisps of steam in the cool room. His lips pressed together tightly. Finally, he nodded. "Emrys does his search and rescue training. Follows it up with cryptography and computer cracking -- that's the proper term, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir," Locher said, smiling faintly. "What about that team? It'll be a good four months before Emrys is cleared --"

"We'll find the team a replacement," Tachnathar said.

"He's too soft," the other Colonel said, again, shaking his head. "It's a bad idea. Giving someone like that crypto and cracking? If he gets caught, if the enemy gets their hands on him, what's going to keep Emrys from revealing everything he knows to the enemy?"

No one said anything. The silence could be measured in the number of times that annoying cricket next door chirped.

One of the sergeants stood up, muttering, "Where's that fucking cricket?"

"Anti-interrogation," Tachnathar said finally, but more than one of the other committee members sat up and made noises to protest, silenced when the General held up a finger. "We'll put him through anti-interrogation training. Start him off with the usual tests. If the man can pass a lie detector test -- will you be satisfied?"

 

ooOOoo

 

"Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What am I going to do?" Merlin ran his hands through his hair and somehow still managed to find enough in the to-the-skull army style to pull. "I can't tell a bloody lie. I can't believe getting crypto training hinges on me passing a stupid lie detector test --"

"How bad do you want this, mate?" Will said, frowning. He'd given up trying to tease Merlin out of his current fit by comparing this tantrum to his meltdown during the Freya-Bryn affair -- something that Merlin wanted to murder him for even bringing up, to be honest. "Look, take a deep breath. You can do this. Just follow their instructions, yeah?"

"Easy for you to say, you already got the slot you wanted," Merlin snapped.

"'Course I did -- that's because I'm awesome," Will said, spreading his hands in the air and doing a little, cocky strut. Merlin rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help but to chuckle a little bit. "It's your own fault, you know. If you weren't so smart -- or rather, if you were as smart as me, you'd have known not to do anything that requires any actual thinking --"

"You're not helping, Will," Merlin grumbled. He sat down heavily, then stood up again, terrified of getting a wrinkle in his uniform. "Look, I appreciate you coming along with me for this, but you're just making it worse --"

"I told you to stick some ice cubes in your armpits --"

"And that's supposed to help me pass a lie detector test how, exactly --"

"Or suck on some sugar --"

"Let's ruin my health while we're at it --"

"You know, you could've gone on the Internets and found any number of ways to fool a polygraph --"

"Internet. Singular. Not Internets --"

The door cracked open, and a man in a suit stepped out. He looked first at Will, then at Merlin. "Recruit Emrys? We're ready for you now."

Will smacked Merlin on the back of his shoulder. "You'll be aces, Merlin. Just remember what I told you. Suck the roof of your mouth before you answer questions --"

"Quit helping, because you're not," Merlin hissed under his breath, following the other man through.

It was a small room with four squares and one two-way mirror, mirrored side out. There was a small table with a polygraph set up on the far edge, a couple of kilometres worth of wires and connectors dangling off the side, and two chairs. The man in the suit had short strawberry-blond hair, small wire-rimmed glasses, and an oval face with a smooth cheek that didn't look as if it would ever sprout a beard. He gestured for Merlin to take a seat.

"Take off your jacket, loosen your cuffs and roll up your sleeves, please."

Merlin complied, sitting down. The man hooked him up with a sensor around his chest, tucked up to his armpits, a second sensor just over his sternum, a blood pressure cuff around his arm, and a couple more patches here and there that monitored respiratory rate, heart rate, and whatever it was that a polygraph measured.

"It's a lot more complicated than on the TV shows," Merlin said, laughing nervously.

"The more bells and whistles, the more accurate they are," the tester said, sitting down. He took out a stack of paper from the briefcase on the floor besides his chair. "Take a deep breath, relax, get comfortable. We're just two people having a conversation. And, by the way, your friend's suggestion?"

"Yeah, I know. He's full of shite," Merlin said, chuckling.

The tester gave him a quick flash of a smile. "All right. Why don't we get started. I'll ask you a series of control questions. Please answer yes or no and try not to go into details. I want you to be honest about the first five questions."

"Okay," Merlin said, taking a deep breath.

"The first question: Is your name is Merlin Emrys?"

"Yes."

"Is your mother Hunith Emrys?"

"Yes."

"Is your father still alive? "

"No."

"Are you twenty-two years old?"

"Yes."

"Were you born in London?"

"No."

"Is your father deceased?"

"Yes."

Merlin was starting to see a pattern in the questioning -- verifiable facts, and trick questions to trip him up. He calmed down, because the questions were simple and easy to answer.

"All right. I'd like you to answer the following questions with a lie."

There was a pause, and the tester turned the page in his notes.

"Have you ever travelled overseas?"

"No." Technically, Merlin thought, he hadn't been old enough to remember going to France and Spain with his parents as a kid, so he didn't think it counted. The tester made a notation on the chart.

"Have you seen your father recently?"

Merlin shot the tester a dark look. Was he going to _keep_ asking about his father? Wasn't twice enough already? "Yes," Merlin said miserably. He doubted visiting the grave counted.

There was a pause while the tester reviewed the questions. "Well, this is silly..."

Merlin waited, trying not to fidget.

"This is the last control question. Do you have magic?"

Merlin startled. He started to answer _no_ out of instinct, remembering at the last minute that the tester _wanted him to lie_. But if he lied, the polygraph would show that he were lying, wouldn't it? And if he told the truth, it would be too unbelievable, and maybe it would invalidate the results? Maybe he could make himself pass the exam? Telling the truth but making it sound like a lie?

"Seriously?" Merlin managed to ask.

"I don't come up with the questions, I just ask them. Do you have magic?"

Merlin's mouth was dry when he answered, "Yes."

Merlin held his breath, inwardly muttering an apology to whatever Gods and Spirits there were out there, because he didn't mean to lie, but if it would get him into the crypto program... Merlin tried not to glance at the tester, to find out if he'd flunked the test --

"All right," the tester said. "Let's get to know each other."

Merlin released a held breath. He'd passed this part, at the very least.

 

ooOOoo

 

It wasn't until three nerve-wracking hours later -- two hours of _getting to know you_ questions with the polygrapher, and one hour waiting around in the lobby, his jacket unbuttoned at the throat, his hat in his hand, pacing anxiously down the corridor waiting for someone to come by and tell him if he'd passed the test. His hat was badly wrinkled now; he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep unless he found out if he'd made it into the program.

A man in camouflage greens came up to him, and Merlin belatedly realized he was a Colonel. He snapped to salute, but the man waved it off.

"Merlin Emrys, I'm Henry Locher," the man said. "Welcome to Crypto."

Merlin grinned, shaking the man's hand. "I'm really happy to meet you, sir."

"Believe me, Emrys, no one's happier than I am."


End file.
